Change

We wrap ourselves in shrouds of comfort,
Layer and insulate our feelings
In a cocoon of safety and security.
Trying to ward off the agents of change
That disrupt our satisfied equilibriums.

Some bounce with the whim of the wind,
Peering out through transparent bubbles,
Recognizing the fragility of their state,
They see change coming and brace for a fall,
Solemnly gather broken pieces and rebuild.

Some dwell inside rosy balloons
Saying, “I can stretch and give!”
But ultimately they reach their limits.
Extended growth or a sharp, pointed incident
And a world explodes.

Some creep deep back into the womb,
Refusing all light and air.
Hiding there until
The relentless contractions of labor push them out
Into a foreign land, where they must
Grow or remain stillborn: dead.

Some follow the path of the caterpillar:
Consuming voraciously, digesting,
Creating a chrysalis, incubating self,
Inviting metamorphosis,
Emerging beautifully different.

Kathy Barclift
6/17/03